


Good Intentions

by Hambone



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Nonbinary Character, Other, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28568538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: Horace doesn't trust Yuria. Anri is a little too receptive to being protected. Patches gets an eyeful.Nonbinary male Anri.
Relationships: Anri of Astora/Horace the Hushed
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> More Horace/Anri for the world! This couple is majorly underrepresented despite how close to canon they are, and for how many dirty little things we can do with them! This fic is much more on the tame side, however, so never you fear. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“I’m sorry, Lady Yuria, but I cannot accept your proposal. Horace and I have our own quest to attend to. I’m sure you understand.”

As they walked away, Anri tried to brush off the guilt of her lingering stare. It was not easy for them to deny a request for help, even one as strange as hers. The moment they turned to the stairwell, however, Horace nudged their arm insistently, to be sure they’d see him sign his words.

_I don’t trust her._

Anri winced a little.

“I’m sure she means well, Horace.”

His face didn't need to be visible for Anri to feel the way he stared at them, unimpressed. Continuing to walk, Anri took on a chiding tone.

“She isn’t a danger simply because she’s,” they took a deep breath through their nose.

“Her people are trying to help people like us. You know they’ve given a home to many who would otherwise be…”

Unable to finish, Anri stepped out onto the landing of the shrine’s center. The Firekeeper, silent and blank as ever, sat across the room. Anri wasn’t sure if she regarded them at all, but they nodded to her politely. Horace was not having it, though, and grasped their shoulder, spinning them around, grunting.

_She wanted you to get married. To that Ash. A stranger._

“I know,” Anri started, but Horace growled a bit, shushing them. His tongue had been cut away long ago, but when he was agitated he still vocalized it.

_Anyone asking something as unhinged as that has a plan._

“Horace…”

Anri took his hand, feeling self-conscious in the echoing space. Not everyone here had the decency to close their ears to such a personal argument, and even if they had, it was unseemly. They drew him away, towards the sunlight outside.

“I'm not going anywhere. You know that.”

About fifty feet above, Patches watched the couple’s argument with mounting interest. They’d had very little on them when they arrived, both in terms of trinkets and souls, and while Anri had shown some desire to visit his shop, the big one – Hortence or something, he couldn’t be assed to remember – had quickly taken them away. The whole time, Patches had felt those ghastly black eyes cut from his ruddy helmet staring holes into him. It was a shame too, because Anri was a decent looking piece of ass. Sure, they were skinny, and Patches knew the rasp of a Hollow when he heard it, but they had enough meat on their bones to fill out their leggings and Patches was sure they’d make some very pretty noises if they sat in his lap.

Now, though, they were heading out to be alone, caught up in whatever inane quarrel had distracted them, and Patches saw an opportunity arise. Yes, they had very little of interest on them, but Patches knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Anri was definitely the weak link between them. If he got his shot in just right (and he always did), he could take the big one down before they even knew he was there and then subdue Anri alone. Despite the open, yawning nature of the shrine, it ate sound like water. No one would have any idea what he was up to, and no one would miss the pair.

Shouldering his spear, Patches crept out onto the balcony beside where he kept his wares. They had exited through the main door, giving him the advantage of height as well as surprise. He kept low, already able to pick up Anri’s hurried voice down the path. It seemed fate was absolutely on his side; they were in the alcove just below, nice and private and hidden from anyone's sight but his.

“Horace!”

The little knight sounded frustrated. Patches liked it. Shame they wouldn't be around much longer. Making use of the rocky landscape, he crept to the very edge of the short cliff above the graves, listening intently. They weren't talking much, but there was quite a lot of huffing and clanging of metal. Had their bickering come to blows? It seemed unlikely, but Patches wouldn't put anything past anyone. It was amazing, the depravity even the most supposedly upstanding men could get into. Leaning against a particularly large stone, he peeked around to the couple below, sizing up his options.

“Don't! Someone could-!”

Patches’ hairless brows rose. Their fight had gotten physical indeed, but not in the way he’d thought. The big one – Horace, apparently – had Anri pinned up against the trunk of a dead old tree, hands all over them, and Anri didn’t seem to be objecting as much as they pretended to. They were gripping the big, ugly sides of Horace’s armor, and despite their complaint they were the picture of submission. Horace had an arm around their back, and a hand on their ass, their legs falling open easily as he pushed between them. Losing the vigor he’d had for violence a moment before, Patches leaned back, a grin cracking across his lips. It'd be even easier now to surprise them than if they had been fighting, but he wanted to see how far they intended to get. He had to admit, he’d wondered if they still fucked. Hollows often did, when they had the parts to, but many who’d kept their wits felt some semblance of shame over their decayed state and chose to remain as hidden away from the world as possible, cocooned in layers of armor and scarves and all manner of silly things.

Given the way Anri was trembling, they definitely had holes they wanted to be filled. Arousal lazily coiling in his stomach, Patches set his spear down. He might as well watch, while he could. Their loot certainly wasn't going anywhere.

“Horace, Horace, oh-!”

Anri hid their helmeted face in their companion’s shoulder, hugging tightly to him as Horace hurriedly shunted off his gauntlets. Patches couldn’t make out much from where he hid, but his skin looked almost green. It was something that might have repulsed him at one point, but now he was only interested in where that hand was going as it wormed down the front of Anri’s trousers. Anri immediately bucked and moaned softly, trembling again, and Patches wished he’d had his binoculars handy to get a close up on the action.

Horace’s hand was cool, as all Hollows were, but it felt hot against Anri’s cock, which had already been hard the moment Horace had pushed them against the tree and began to feel them up, anticipating his hungry touch. His hands were rough and callused but they touched them with the utmost care, sliding down to grip the shaft of their prick firmly, drawing forth another soft cry. Anri really didn't mean to be so loud, not outdoors, where anyone could hear them, but they couldn't help themself. Horace knew them perfectly, inside and out, tugging them into full erection within moments. There was little room between them, but Anri managed to wriggle their hips together anyways, grinding their cock into Horace’s hand and the hard, hot metal of his codpiece behind it. They knew better, really, that they should be telling him no, to at least move a little further from the shrine, but to be fully honest the protective side of Horace got them hotter than they could reconcile.

Growling softly at their temple, Horace’s hands were all over them, wanting to say more but unwilling to release their hold on Anri’s prick, on their lower back. He frigged them firmly, but slowly, making Anri squirm against him, clinging to his cuirass desperately as they thrust into his hand, still trapped inside their trousers.

“P-please,” they whispered at him, stuttering a bit as he peeled back their foreskin and ran the pad of his thumb across the sensitive tip of their cock, “Horace! Hurry!”

Patches couldn’t really hear what was being said, now that Anri was at least attempting to be quiet, but he could sure as shit hear the whiny, begging tone it was said in. It was annoying that they were angled away from him just enough that the majority of the action was hidden behind Horace’s brutish, hulking back, but at least Anri squirmed enough to be obvious in their arousal. While his interest in them before had been forgettable, getting a live show like this was stirring a darker part of him he hadn’t felt the need to indulge in a while. Palming his cockstand through his breeches, Patches considered how likely it was he’d be overheard if he tried to take sloppy seconds before he offed them. It wasn’t often he’d attempt something so brash when he knew a nest of do-gooder busybodies was right around the corner, but if he didn't at least see Anri’s pink bits before they were done he might just make an exception.

As if responding to his demand, however, no sooner had the thought entered his mind than Horace began to shuffle his little partner’s trousers down their thighs. Neither of them bothered to unbuckle the heavy poleyns around Anri’s knees, so the pants remained mid thigh, but it was more than enough for Patches to get all the angles he desired.

Anri was indeed hollow, but their skin still had just enough meat and muscle behind it as to appear basically human, if quite underweight and a little discolored. Their skinny thighs parted as wide as would be allowed by their position, welcoming Horace’s hand back to their sex, which jutted up towards their belly with excitement. Pretty impressive, for someone with the blood flow of a corpse. They must fuck pretty often to keep their intimates in such good condition. Though veins bloomed blue beneath the skin, their prick was as pretty a pink as any living person’s, if a bit on the pale side, and when Horace gripped the base it jumped against his palm. So engrossed was he that Patches almost missed what Horace’s other hand was doing until Anri startled with a bit of an excited yelp, leaning their chest against him so they could stick their ass out encouragingly. Their tunic covered it a bit, but Patches could see enough to know Horace had grabbed a handful of their bony butt and was kneading it.

Panting heavily, Anri grasped at Horace’s codpiece, unable to really do anything about his leggings but wanting them out of the way as soon as possible. As perverse as it felt to admit it, even silently and to themself, Anri’s ass was throbbing inside. The way Horace manhandled them, squeezing at their buttock, so close to where they wanted him, was maddening. On occasion he’d use his grip to pull at their ass like he was opening them up and it was enough to make Anri’s hole flutter obscenely. They pried at his waistband.

“Come to me, inside me, please!”

Horace pulled back and spun them around to face the tree, Anri eagerly complying. Now this was what Patches wanted to see; Anri presented their backside obediently, swaying as if pushed by the breeze, their soft balls quavering between their spread thighs. Horace lumped their tunic and maille into a pile on their bent back, getting everything out of the way to give himself and their secret voyeur a perfect view. Anri’s buttocks weren’t much to look at, but their asshole was clearly visible between their meager cheeks, dark and enticing. While he was nowhere near close enough to make the determination, Patches imagined it was a well used hole, hammered into shape over the decades by the continual care of whatever massive beast lay behind Horace’s admittedly impressive crotch piece. A lot of guys would be daunted by a partner experienced with bigger tools, but Patches liked the idea of making that tender little slit weep around his pecker.

As he watched, Horace began fiddling with his belt, and Patches expected him to remove his hose, but instead he drew a little leather pouch from around his back. Even before he’d screwed the cap off Patches knew what it was, and his grin widened as he internally confirmed his bias about Anri being a needy little beggar for cock. Horace squeezed a generous amount of clear, viscous liquid onto his hand, particularly his long and index fingers, and Anri must have been able to hear it because their whole body tensed, their prick bobbing up to their stomach.

“I'm ready,” they urged, “please!”

Horace smoothed his two wet fingers down the crack of their ass, across their trembling hole. He knew Anri well enough to know they meant what they’d said, and without much resistance screwed one inside. Anri was warm, for a Hollow, eagerly accepting him in, clinging to him when he began to draw out again. He leaned over their back, thrusting his finger in and out smoothly as he pressed his chest to Anri’s body. While they both desired the luxury of skinship, it was not the time or the place, so he made do with feeling the way they clenched around him, pushing into his hand with little moans like a dove’s cry.

Alright, that was enough to get Patches’ dick out of his trousers. Anri was squirming like a whore, and by the time Horace had his second finger in the sounds of him stirring up their ass were loud and lewd enough for him to hear even from his distant roost. Horace was slapping his hand to the palm, and with every twist of his wrist he worked more of the lubricant inside, til their asshole was a wet, sloppy mess around his fingers. As if that wasn’t erotic enough, Anri reach between their legs to grasp their own prick, a lovely little display for Horace that Patches was happy to keep for himself.

“Oh, yes, Horace! Hurry!”

Grunting in reply, Horace pushed his fingers in as deep as they’d go and stirred their insides vigorously, making Anri cry out hoarsely, squeezing a spurt of precum from their cock. Their hips bounced in place until, with a wet pop, Horace drew out all at once. Their hole puckered outward, remaining open for a moment, and Patches could swear he could see the red of their insides. Horace was already undoing his belts, finally removing the leather harness for his codpiece, pulling down his leggings, and by the Gods Patches had not been wrong about what he was packing. Horace’s cock, purpled and thick, was so heavy it didn’t so much spring from his pants as fall free, a monster escaping its cage. Anri had been looking over their shoulder during this, from the moment the buckle of Horace’s belt jangled, their breaths coming faster with each bit of clothing removed, and now, as Horace grasped his own cock in one hand and angled it up towards their backside, they practically panted like a dog in heat at the sight of it.

Patches watched him bring the fat head of his cock to Anri’s hole and tap it a few times, giving them just a tease of what was to come. He couldn’t help but sympathize under his breath; _yeah, you want it, don’t you,_ _ya little tart. Come on, then, beg for it._

Horace, obviously, did not vocalize the sentiment, but Anri still moaned and backed their rump into him, rubbing his cock between their scant buttocks, trying to catch the tip inside themself. They were saying something, though Patches couldn't make it out between their muffled whines, too soft and too slurred to mean much other than the obvious. Horace inched in closer, til they were almost flushed again, and then, slowly, pushed inside.

“Horace!”

It must have been quite the squeeze – Patches could see the way the skin on Horace’s cock buckled as it forced itself in deeper. Anri trilled, their knees knocking together. Patches slowed jerking his own dick to tighten his hand around the shaft, simulating the slide into their skinny ass on himself. Not quite all the way in, Horace began to pull out instead. The sound it made was obscene. Anri gripped the tree to stay upright, peeling the bark from the wood. With short, careful thrusts, Horace began opening them up wider a bit at a time. Their asshole, red and straining, dragged out each time, sucking his cock back in with equal intensity. If he had his hands on such a willing fucktoy, Patches doubted he’d ever get much else done. Worldly wants did that to a man.

Every time Horace drove back inside them, he pushed a little harder, penetrating just that much deeper. Anri, for all their enthusiasm, was still significantly smaller than dear Horace, and each time they came together it felt like they were being ripped apart anew. They loved it, though, when it came from him, loved the burn, the ache in their ass where his fat cock reamed them open. Though both of them had lost mass over the years, Horace somehow retained endowment where it counted. As he got closer to the root, Anri could feel his heavy balls slap their backside, a thrill singing up their spine as they imagined how much he’d fill them with upon completion. Horace’s spunk always stayed with them for days, reminding them of how hard he’d pounded them every time a change in posture or much needed stretch forced some out. Not that they were quick to forget even when he didn’t finish inside. Sometimes, when they had the opportunity to really explore one another, Horace rode them so hard their buttocks would darken with bruises under the papery Hollow skin, the raw sting in their hole refusing to abate no matter how gently they moved after, and they loved it. Horace would never, ever hurt them, but when their joys were expressed physically they would beg for it. That pain, mild as it was, was like a locket, a memento, something to let them feel close at all times. Besides, anything that distracted from the ever present feeling of their humanity slipping through the hole in their shoulder was a blessing.

Horace fucked in to the root and Anri’s mouth dropped open silently. They pushed against him, urging him on, but there wasn’t much they could do, too skewered to get him any deeper. It didn’t matter, because Horace knew. He hugged his arms around Anri’s waist, holding them as close as possible, and slowly began to rut them against the tree. It wasn't a perfect view, out past the cliff side. The world had crumbled away here, into gorges so deep they were hidden by the yellow clouds of dust that filled the air. Horace didn’t see any of that, though; he’d known this world too long for any of it to be unique. What he saw instead was the sunlight gleaming off of Anri’s helmet, the way their thin hips wriggled into his. Though they had been robbed of humanity, they still were beautiful to him, handsome in their continued sense of loyalty and pride even now.

So he crushed their hips together and started humping Anri in earnest. Anri jumped, making a low, appreciative sound, dragging their gauntlet down the tree and leaving behind deep grooves in the ashy wood. Horace had trapped their other arm, the one they frigged themself with, against their side, giving them a wonderful sensation of being pinned, encompassed, Horace’s bulky armor and bulkier muscles wrapped around them.

This made it harder for Patches to see, but at this point he’d gotten enough to construct a poor man’s fantasy version of the scenario anyhow. Sure, he’d love a close up image of their asshole as it struggled to take Horace’s girth, but he could imagine it easily enough, and around his own happy prick no less. Anri and Horace were really bumping and grinding now, their movements creating a decently loud commotion now, even though Anri wore very little plate. He was certain the folks in the shrine could hear them, even if only a little, and he briefly was chagrined by the thought that not a single one of them would be interested in assisting him in running train on Anri, once Horace was dispatched. That Leonhard fellow had seemed like a possible pervert under that mask, but he was hardly around and, when he was, very unpleasant to talk to. Andre was too much of a goody two-shoes, and a brawny one at that – Orbeck was a prissy little shit, Cornyx was probably too old to get a cockstand anyhow, and poor little Ludleth was more likely to be sat on a fat prick than to have one. He might have asked Eygon, if he didn’t already despise Patches on sight, but that was the way it went, and old Greirat… Patches would not involve him.

He realized, still jacking himself off, that he’d gotten so invested in the mundane fantasy of trying to find someone to fuck Anri’s ass with that he was actually ignoring the scene of just that happening before him. He really was getting old.

Anri was so close. They felt the orgasm swelling inside them like a bubble that needed to burst, filling their chest til they could hardly breathe. Horace was crushing them with his weight, not enough to be anything but enjoyable, and they loved it. They loved the feel of his arms holding them in place, of his thick cock grinding over their prostate, the sound of his soft grunts of pleasure in their ear. Their hurried coupling was for the better, but at the same time so intense they were almost overwhelmed.

“Horace! I’m cumming!” they whimpered, though they weren’t quite yet, but they were afraid they wouldn’t manage to get the words out if they waited a second longer. Horace growled softly, and then one of his hands came down over their own, around their leaking prick, so that they were stroking it off together, and Anri was gone. With a little hiccup of pleasure, Anri spilled over the both of them, quaking all over. As they did so their ass clamped down hard around Horace, spasming with ecstasy, silently pleading with him to cum inside.

Patches watched Horace wring the cum from Anri with rapt attention. Horace was pumping them through their orgasm, practically pulling their ass inside out with his cock, hurriedly chasing his own completion now that he’d gotten his partner to theirs. Anri was already standing on their toes, and now it seemed Horace might very well lift them off the ground. It was pretty damn hot, especially when Horace’s movements became stiff and Anri cried out again loudly, informing them both that Horace was cumming. White streaks of jism mixed with the lubricant that flew out between them with each thrust, so wet and sloppy and Patches was certain it felt like heaven in there. Then Horace pulled them close, firing the last spurts of his cum while simply grinding into Anri’s hole, fully sheathed, the both of them panting and heaving as one. Patches didn’t cum himself until, with the slick sound of sticky skin pulling from skin, Horace backed out, unplugging Anri’s asshole and allowing a fat glob of spunk to ooze out, leashed to his cock with several strands.

It was absolutely filthy, for such a pathetically romantic couple. Patches groaned softly, leaning into the cool rockside as he finished himself off. He shouldn't have been surprised, he supposed, flicking semen from his fingers into the dull grass. Hollows were prey to their instincts, after all. Anri had turned around in Horace’s arms, hugging close to him now, chest to chest.

“Horace, Horace,” they said, nuzzling their helm up under his chin, “I’m yours alone, I promise you, just as you are mine.”

Horace did not interrupt the moment to respond, but the worry still lingered in the back of his throat, only somewhat abated by their closeness. It was not Anri’s loyalty he was concerned with.

The two stood together for an almost sickeningly long time, the only thing more so being how much of that time Patches spent actually watching them and not running his pole-arm through Horace’s spine. His desire to loot and plunder had all but abated, probably because of the post orgasm high, a fact which annoyed him equally as their lovey-dovey display. He really needed to get laid.

Then the moment was lost. Horace and Anri began busing themselves with cleaning up, and Patches knew that if he attacked now they’d all be a little more sluggish than what was conducive to a good one-sided battle. Que sera, he supposed. There would be other opportunities. After all, how far into Irithyll could these crazy kids really get?


End file.
